


Not Dancing Alone

by tea_and_outer_space



Category: Steam Powered Giraffe
Genre: Dancing, F/M, First Kiss, Fluff, Slow Dancing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-02
Updated: 2015-09-02
Packaged: 2018-04-18 16:17:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4712399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tea_and_outer_space/pseuds/tea_and_outer_space
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dancing has always been something Iris kept to herself, but after walking in on her one night, Peter offers to teach her how to slow dance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Dancing Alone

**Author's Note:**

> because Iris is totally a secret hopeless romantic and Peter is a total dork  
> and because there's a startling lack of fluffy, sappy peteriris fics and i just had to fix that.  
> also just note that i have barely any idea about the 18/1900's sO there's bound to be little things off here and there. just don't look too deep into it. and i have no clue when this takes place in the timeline.  
> basically: ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ hope you enjoy

She should have known she'd be caught eventually.

But dancing wasn't a habit that Iris could ever quite kill.

It started when she was barely a teen, she'd slip on one of her Sunday dresses, she'd put on her nicest shoes, she'd hum church hymns hours past midnight to herself, twirling around her room.

And the tunes and the steps and the gowns all changed over the years, but dancing was a constant.

Iris half expected it to stop after she moved into the Walter manor, that since she'd be rooming with a handful of other servants there wouldn't be any time nor privacy to indulge, but that was all dashed away when she was shown to her own room, in an isolated part of the servants wing of the house.

The first few weeks in the house were spent still and in silence, the record player her parents had given to her as a parting gift collecting dust on top of her dresser.

Once she memorized the footsteps of everyone in the house, knew who went to sleep when (with the exception of Peter, who seemed to never fall asleep, but he never really came into the servants quarters anyway), and fell into the rhythm of the house, only then did she allow herself to dance.

It was indulgent and tiring and silly, but  _it made her happy_.

And so her nights went on for months and years and there were a few close calls, but no one ever found out. Iris was glad. Were someone to step in, she'd have a hard time explaining why she was dressed to the nines, hair loose and nice dress on, dancing with air.

Of course, that's what happened.

* * *

Peter frowned as he moved down the halls. He'd been living in the house for his entire life, but he swore the walls moved with how familiar he was with it, which wasn't at all.

It might have had something to do with him being in the servants quarters, which he hadn't been in in ages.

It was sometime past midnight (which he didn't know specifically because clock in the lab was broken, he really needed to fix that), the robots were off doing something (which probably should have been concerning, what with how he hadn't heard a peep from them in a couple hours), and the house was completely devoid of activity (which had to do with the fact that it was sometime past midnight).

His latest project had been stressing his mind heavily, and he needed to talk to  _someone_  or he felt he was going to loose his mind. Explaining his experiments to the bots was like explaining algebra to kids on a sugar high, and the one time Peter had tried talking to himself Iris had walked in and promptly told him that she was fine working for a scientist, but wouldn't stand working for a mad scientist.

Iris was good to talk to, and despite her raised eyebrows and sarcastic comments, Peter knew she listened well. And she had mentioned she'd been having trouble sleeping lately, and she had told him once she was (almost) always up for listening to him, and somehow or another Peter found himself standing in front of her door.

There was a sliver of light coming from under her door, and the soft sound of music and shuffling feet drifted from the room.

Peter knocked lightly.

“Iris?”

There was no answer, and the music continued. Peter waited a moment before knocking again. He fidgeted with the hem of his lab coat slightly, trying to be patient, but after a minute or two he decided there'd be no harm in opening the door a sliver.

He placed his hand on the doorknob, hesitating for just a second before cracking it open, poking his head in.

Iris was there, and for a split second it felt as if all air had been punched straight out of his lungs.

Her eyes were shut and she was completely oblivious to him, completely caught up in the music surrounding her. Her dark hair was falling freely around her face instead of twisted up as usual, and she wore flats instead of her usual heels, making her appear even smaller than usual.

There was the faintest of smiles on her lips, and her hands were poised over the air, as if she were slow dancing with some invisible person.

Peter smiled, watching her for several moments before deciding to make his presence known.

“That isn't how you slow dance to a song like this.”

The deep voice of her employer caused Iris to snap out of her haze in an instant, eyes flying open, startled look conjuring on her features.

Peter suddenly turned as alarmed as she was, as if scaring her scared him.

“W-what are you doing?” Iris demanded, ignoring the alarm to her words, hoping Peter did too.

“I came to talk to you and you weren't answering your door,” Peter explained, still not moving from the doorway.

“So you decided to just let yourself in?”

“Sorry,” Peter said, “I can go now, if you'd like.”

Iris hesitated for a moment before nodding, in the moment just wanting Peter  _out_ , and for him to never bring this up again.

Years of dancing alone and she'd never been caught once, although Peter had always been the exception to many things.

She should have expected this.

Peter nodded in return, pulling back from the doorway before pausing.

“Although, I can teach you, if you'd like,” he said.

“Teach me?” Iris questioned, after a moment. She danced just fine, she thought, she'd been doing it for years now.

“I took lessons as a kid,” Peter said, “I was absolutely terrible at them. Knocked over my instructor about half a million times, broke my leg twice. But I did pick up a few things. And it's not like you dance  _bad_  or anything, it's just kinda obvious that you're used to dancing alone, I can show you how to dance with someone else if you'd like.”

He smiled, it crooked and charming and bright.

Iris thought for a moment.

Peter didn't have a bad bone in his body, and although he could be generally clueless sometimes, Iris was fairly certain that he didn't have any ulterior motives. She narrowed her eyes in scrutiny anyway, thinking it over, before nodding.

Hell, at some point she would have to learn to dance with someone else, it may as well be with someone who wouldn't tease her about it.

Peter grinned, stepping into the room and shutting the door behind him. He moved over to her quickly, obviously excited.

“Okay, so I haven't done this in years, sorry if I'm terrible at it.”

He glanced down at his hands as he stepped closer, belatedly noticing the stains of various grease on it, and made  some attempt at wiping it all off on his lab coat.

“Sorry,” he said sheepishly, after making sure his hands were more or less clean.

“It's fine,” Iris said.

“Okay, so,” Peter said, bringing one hand up, “Take that in that hand, like this, and your other hand goes on my shoulder, and my other goes on your waist like this.”

They got into position quickly, and neither were exactly comfortable. Although, Iris thought, if she were perfectly comfortable being held by her boss like this that would probably be wrong, and Peter found himself more nervous than anything, really not wanting to screw this up.

“Like that?” Iris asked, after locking fingers with Peter. His fingers pressed lightly into her side, and she could feel his bony shoulder through his lab coat and shirt underneath.

Peter nodded.

“Perfect,” he said.

His hands were kind of sweaty and her hands were kind of shaking and both hoped that the other wouldn't notice.

“Alright,” Peter said, “You pretty much had the basics down, but for a song like this, you want move around more. Slightly larger steps.”

Iris nodded, and the two began to move.

She frowned in concentration, staring down at her feet, unable to look up at Peter. Her own personal excuse was so she could match his foot movements easier, but it was something deeper than that.

Aside from the occasional accident (Peter tripping over his own feet and accidentally landing on her, her having to shove him out of the lab and into his room for sleep, the occasional explosion that one had to shield the other from, and so on and so forth), she hadn't ever been so close to him before. All the other instances were brief, and this wasn't, and Iris felt like she couldn't breathe.

He smelled like metal and chemicals, and something vague and scientific and blue that she couldn't pin.

She could feel her heart pounding, her hand in Peter's, twelve different levels of nervousness, and so she kept her head down, and simply focused on the music.

Peter was nervous. Which, y'know, was new.

He'd get nervous sometimes, of course, back when first talking to Delilah, turning in reports back in university, presenting new and rocky ideas to Thaddeus.

He never got nervous around Iris.

Iris was someone and something different, someone Peter felt he could lose himself around and not worry about a thing. Iris would roll her eyes and sigh and make sarcastic comments, and Peter would say whatever was on his mind and do whatever he felt and he knew she wouldn't judge.

Iris was different.

And yet, his palms were sweaty.

And his nose itched.

Both his hands were occupied (which, of course, he was rather vividly aware of, as one was around her waist (that's new) and one was locked in one of her hand (were her hands always that small?)), so it wasn't as if he could wipe off his hands or itch his nose, so he attempted to distract himself.

First it was by simply looking at her, how her hair was down instead of up, the faint tint of pink to her lips, the small crease in between her eyebrows, frown of concentration. Dark brown eyes directed down at the floor. She was much shorter without heels. Were those freckles on her cheeks?

Of course, on some level, Peter always knew Iris was pretty.

But,  _god_ , she was beautiful.

His cheeks went warm and he looked away from her in an instant, dropping his eyes down to the floor. His messy work boots next to her nice shoes, a pair he'd never seen her wear. The dress was new, too, although to be fair Peter had never really seen Iris out of her maid uniform.

Peter was honestly surprised he was doing so well, vivid memories of him tripping over uneven floorboards, knocking down his dance instructor, stepping on toes, they all came to the front of his mind, making him all the more nervous.

He glanced back up to Iris, about to say something (which he hadn't planned out yet, but he's sure once he opened his mouth he'd think of something).

And then Iris looked up at him, and brown eyes met blue, and Peter's heart stopped and every worried thought in Iris's mind cleared in an instant.

Maybe it was the sudden realization that they were standing much more closer than necessary, or that the music had stopped long ago. Maybe it was the faint smile on Peter's lips, or Iris's shining brown eyes.

Either way, they stilled completely, frozen for a heartbeat.

Peter's hand around her waist pulled her closer, and she moved forward a step without a moment's hesitation. Iris's hand on his shoulder slipped down to his chest, and Peter unlaced their fingers, moving his other hand to the back of her neck.

She could feel his chest rising and falling, and he wove his fingers into her hair.

Iris stood on the tips of her toes and Peter ducked his head down, and that still wasn't close enough.

They were barely a breath away from each other, and then-

“P-p-p-pappy!”

Rabbit's voice broke in suddenly, drifting in from the hallway.

The moment was shattered instantly, Iris taking a step back quickly and Peter letting go of her in a heartbeat.

Iris bit her lip nervously, not sure of what to say, if there was anything to say.

Peter glanced around the room for a second, wanting to look at anything but her.

“I should go,” he said, a moment later, voice full of nerves.

Without another word he darted out of the room, leaving Iris wondering what the hell had just happened.

* * *

In the weeks following, things were awkward.

Peter had kept to his lab, and had barely seen Iris. On the rare occasion they did pass in the halls or she was the one who had to run food out to him, they'd nod or give the occasional 'how are you', but beyond that there wasn't anything.

The robots did notice a shift, but none of them knew just how to bring it up, so they didn't.

And it was nearing a month after the night, when it was another night far past midnight. There was still light coming out from under the door to the lab.

Iris had made tea, far too much cream, three spoons of sugar (which she personally thought was mildly horrifying, but that was how Peter liked it, and she was more of a coffee drinker anyway) and had decided to give it to Peter before turning in for the night.

She was one of the few people in the house who never knocked when entering the lab. It was late and the robots had been on a stargazing kick, so Iris knew the lab would be devoid of people besides Peter.

She stepped in quietly, shutting the door behind her, and sure enough he was hovering over his workbench, deep in concentration.

She found a clear spot on the bench (not near anything electronical or that could be ruined by spilt liquid, a habit she'd cultivated after her making a few mistakes and Peter knocking over some cups before), and set the mug down.

“Goodnight,” was all she said, before turning to leave.

She barely made it a few steps.

“Iris,” Peter said, voice hesitant. She stopped, turning back to face him.

“Yes?” she prompted, after several moments of Peter staring down at his workbench.

He set down the screwdriver in hand, and pushed his goggles off his eyes and into his hairline. He turned to face her, looking more than a little nervous.

“About what happened the other night,” he began.

Iris knew what he was talking about instantly.

“I... um, I shouldn't have...” he stuttered out, and Iris could hear how he was practically forcing himself to say the words he clearly didn't mean. “I just... I don't know if you feel... I just shouldn't have, we shouldn't have-”

Iris rarely acted on impulse.

Regardless, she marched a few steps forward, closing the space between them easily. She grabbed him by his ridiculous lab coat, took a brief second to look at the surprise on his face before tugging him down to her level.

She pressed her lips to his firmly, and after he had gotten over his momentary shock, he smiled into it.

That was when she let go of him, taking a step backwards.

“It's okay,” she said, allowing a small, sly grin of her own. “What happened, it's okay.”

Peter, with a completely goofy grin on his lips, merely nodded.

Iris took another step backwards, before turning and heading out the door.

“We'll have to dance again sometime,” she said over her shoulder, before shutting the door behind her, leaving Peter grinning and lovestruck in his lab.


End file.
